Friday, May 19

Since Ten came out, like everyone at the time, I've been a bit obsessed with Pearl Jam. Even if I didn't like the majority of their studio albums (okay, okay...any) after Vitalogy, I still either bought them or pawned them off friends when they confessed they weren't fans, just so I could have them. When I was still in high school, they played a show in Augusta (Maine) on my birthday. I can't remember why I couldn't go, but there was definitely a reason...either it was sold out before I could get tickets, or I had something else I was committed to. Either way, the night of the show, I found out a friend of mine was going to go up to Augusta to see if they could score some tickets and invited me along. They were playing ON MY BIRTHDAY, and they were by far, my favorite band -- doesn't that mean there was no way I could miss the show? I declined for the above reasons, and cursed the entire night. The next day, I found out not only did they get tickets, they got them for free...and were IN THE FRONT ROW. Since then, I've had a few opportunties to see them, but each time something prevented me. Since they've released Pearl Jam, and it is actually up there with Vitalogy, I thought for sure it means this would be my chance. This morning I received an email from Live Nation showcasing the upcoming Pearl Jam concert in Boston at the Garden with My Morning Jacket. I clicked on the link and it directed me to this link at Tickemaster. I was initially shocked at seeing it sent me to the ticket giant, remembering when PJ boycotted them, refusing to charge their fans a ridiculous amount of money to see their show. Another reason to love PJ (as if I needed another). At the top they mention some nonsense about buying a ticket and getting their album free with the purchase*, so I'm thinking how great that is of Eddie, Stone, Jeff, Matt, and Mike. But then I scroll down further and see the $51 dollars they are charging PER TICKET. And that's WITHOUT THE SERVICE CHARGE.

What happened to your ethics, guys? The entire album is basically a 14-song political statement, a one big FUCK YOU to W, complete with matching angst-ridden tempo...and you're charging me $51 DOLLARS?! I stood by you when you made Binaural. I've been wanting to see you since Ten, but something has kept me from it for 15 years now. And now $51 dollars will keep me from you again. I must also point out, that the show is next week, and you are still not sold out, PJ. Think that's saying something?

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*Update: I just re-read the ticketmaster site, and yeh, you have to purchase the cd as well. It gives you the opportunity to add the $16.99 on top of your ticket purchase, service charge and shipping for a grand total of a whopping: $80.59. I might as well just give my toes up, or perhaps my whole right leg while I'm at it. And to think there was a point in my love affair with you that I was willing to have your babies, Eddie. Yours too, Jeff.

Monday, May 15

For 8 years I drove my well-loved, but uber-ghetto, Hyundai Accent, Frijole. Up until about a week and a half ago, it had very few problems...then it had decided it had had just about enough of life, and it stopped working. 8 years and thousands of dollors concluded in the pouring rain at a traffic light downtown. A week prior to the breakdown, I decided it would be good to know the Kelly Blue Book value of Fri since I had been thinking about getting a new car within the next few months. Frijole was worth a whopping $288. With interest, the $17,000 I had spent for the car was consolidated down to one good night at the restaurant.

But Fri had a good life. I can proudly say I got every cent back that I put into him/her (it was transgender depending on what was happening)...from the weekly trips from Boone to Charlotte to visit my then boyfriend B, bi-yearly drives from North Carolina to Maine and back again, a few jaunts here and there to Florida, a 5,000 or so mile trip to the west coast (in the middle of July WITHOUT a/c, I might add), to Canada, and back down south, to it's final resting place, Rhode Island...it was a good car.

Fast forward to today, I'm driving a brand-new (to me) 2003 Subaru Forester..and, apparently, I'm now a lesbian. Was I the only one not aware of this correlation? And it turns out, the Forester is #1 on the list, followed by the VW Convertible Beetle, and the, um, Honda Civic. Really? Apparently, lesbian's are driving all cars on the road. Imagine that! Who knew?

I love my new car. That is, if I can just make it past the whole non-ghettoness of it all. I mean, I CAN PUT THE WINDOW DOWN WITH A TOUCH OF A BUTTON! I have also found out that apparently you are not supposed to break out in a sweat when parallel parking. However, I can now take comfort in knowing I will no longer get asked if my power steering fluid has been leaking when I take my car to the shop, by THE MECHANIC, when there is no power steering to begin with. And the transmission...oh how I how love the transmission. This, my friend, is how a stick shift should drive. It no longer takes 20 minutes to get to 4th. I realize it's just a Forester, but to me, it's like a brand new Porsche.

Thursday, May 4

Two days ago, on my way to work, my car just decided it was done working. I later told my mom what had happened, as I purposely avoided it for as long as I could as I had a feeling she wouldn't exactly be positive and upbeat. However, I did not expect her to say this in response to me simply saying my car broke down on the way to work: "I am sorry you have to face it alone, sometimes it is good to have someone to help you out."

Seriously, Mom? SERIOUSLY? My first thought when all the lights came on and the gas pedal no longer worked was "Shit, I hope a cop doesn't stop and see my inspection expired almost a year ago." My second thought was, "Ugh. I so thought I'd have a few more weeks for this." My third and final thought was, "Damn, I wish I had made coffee before I left the house." NOT ONCE in the entire shitty day did I think to myself, "Oh I can't believe I don't have a boyfriend or a husband right now. Life would be so much simpler! He could do all the thinking for me and help pay for repairs, maybe even ride up to my dead car on a white horse and whisk me away to married heaven. Woe is me. I am so sad, so lonely. What ever will I do now?"

Tuesday, May 2

In the last few weeks, I have been witness to horrible maliciousness by girls that are numerically adults. I have been forced to be reminded of my adolescence, of being treated like I was no one by people who claimed they were my friend. I was actually physically sick at one point when discovering what they had done and how they had used me in their plot of revenge. But I believe that finally, I am rid of them. It turns out I won't have to choose between financial stability and comfort...they are now conveniently wrapped into many late-night packages.

In the midst of all this, during the middle of an amazing set put on by Wilco, I realized I had no idea who I was anymore. Just like that, breaking through lyrics sung by Jeff Tweedy, I was looking in on myself and didn't recognize the person staring back. During the last 7 months in more than one area of my life, I haven't been myself. I've been acting a certain way in order to make my life tolerable and not once did I realize that people should never have this power over you. Although it hasn't just been work, it's been evident in other areas of my life. Ever since I've been in Rhode Island, really, I've never been able to find that niche. I've spoken of this on numerous occasions: in the presence of the majority of people I've met -- although mostly all incredible and amazing -- i just haven't felt completely myself. There have been exceptions, of course, and you (I hope) know who you are. After going to California, and spending time with Liz before that, I was reminded, again, of who I really am when I'm around people I'm comfortable with. The last few months I've either been at work, or at home alone with Took. I'm myself at home, of course, but how can you be aware of who that person is when it's just your dog that witnesses it, and your unspoken thoughts? Do people that spend their lives in solitude have a complete grasp of who they are and what they stand for, when there is never anyone to challenge it, to question it, to explore it? When living the monotonous life of work, work, sleep, repeat --- you lose track of who you are outside of that. And I don't want to be defined by my work. Especially when my work becomes equivalent to the years I spent between grade school and college, the years I tried to forget after I lived them because they were so painfully laced with self-doubt. After spending so much of your life unsure, then discovering how to be everything but, it's hard to find yourself back there...uncertain of who you have become, and where your direction lies.

I'm overwhelmed at the task of discovering that again. I waver between excitement and fear when thinking of the next few months...but I hope wherever I land, I can feel like myself again. I liked who I was, or who I am...I'm not sure which it is. I'm just not happy with the last few months, they're cloudy and restless and right now, I'm not exactly sure how to make it clearer.